The Bicycle
by Harthad
Summary: When Katherine receives a brand-new bicycle from her father and the newsies get a hold of it, there's no telling what will happen. Especially when The Journal starts printing some fishy news about Katherine riding in Central Park, and Crutchie tries to ride the bicycle himself.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I recently saw a play called Freewheelers, which was about the growing popularity of the bicycle at the turn of the century and women's attempts to break free from their restraints of society to ride it. As Susan B. Anthony said, "The bicycle has done more for the emancipation of women than anything else in the world." Just thought I'd give you some background on where this story (and Katherine's comments about her corset and the League of American Wheelers) came from. Enjoy!

* * *

Bright, summer sunlight shone down on the stately, grimy buildings of New York City, providing some glow to the rag-tag groups of people that walked between the lamp posts and carriages that trundled along the dirt-covered streets. Persons of high-fashion paraded around the vendors and street children, sporting colourful gowns and embroidered suits. Men and women passed each other by, occasionally stopping to consort with a member of the class below them, often buying a paper from the pale-faced, rag-adorned newsies that hawked the headlines on every available street corner. Steam rose up above the general cheerful chatter of all the people, coupled with the enticing smells of the street vendor's wares. A small boy clad in a purple and pink plaid shirt brought a refreshing degree of excitement as he rushed through the dusty streets, keeping one hand on his black bowler hat. His black boots kicked up small flurries of dirt as he ran on, trying to find his brother and friends. Two newsies on a street corner turned to see the boy, and one ran up to him.

"What is it, Les?" Davey Jacobs asked, a bit worried. "Did somethin' happen-"

"Katherine's got a wheeler!" Les interjected, a grin on his face. "Come on! Jack's trying it out-you gotta see!"

Davey's hand was grabbed and his arm nearly yanked out of it's socket as Les dragged him down the streets. After catapulting through the masses of dresses and suits, and narrowly avoiding a horse-drawn carriage that rolled it's way through the crowd, Davey slowed to a stop, glancing after his brother after he let go of his hand. His gaze was soon trapped by a machine he had only seen in pictures-a gleaming white bicycle. Or a wheeler, as they were commonly called. Katherine, outfitted in a pink dress, swung her leg over the black leather seat, hopping off. She faced the small crowd of newsies with a smile, but was immediately confronted with cries of, "Can I have a turn?!"

"Race, you go first," she said with a laugh, pointing at the newsie. She gave a loving look to Jack, reaching up to kiss his cheek. "Thank you, dear."

"I didn't get you the wheeler," Jack said with a small smile as he looked down on her. "Your father did."

"I know," Katherine said sweetly. "I meant, thank you for telling the boys. They don't usually have things like this-Race, slow down, you're going to crash!" She turned away from Jack, shouting. "Turn! Race, turn!"

Soon her shouts were coupled by the newsies' cries of, "Turn! Turn!" Race got the hint and swerved wildly right into the assembled crowd. The newsies quickly scattered as Race crashed into one unfortunate, bringing them both down in a pile of metal, wheels, clothing, wood and flailing limbs. Katherine hitched up her skirts and ran over to the two, followed by Jack.

"Race, are you okay-Oh no, Crutchie?! Are you okay?!"

"'M fine, Katherine, really, 'M good-"

"Never mind me," Race cut in as he stood, "is the wheeler okay?"

"It ain't broken, is it?" Crutchie asked as Jack pulled him to his feet and gave him back his crutch. Katherine shook her head, setting the machine back upright. "It's perfectly fine. I must say, you two are very concerned about the bicycle than yourselves."

Race and Crutchie glanced at each other sheepishly. Jack looked them up and down. "Neithah o' yous hurt, are ya?"

"'M fine," Crutchie offered, and Race nodded his own okay. Les rushed up, nearly knocking the boys over again. "Can I have a go, Katherine?" He asked excitedly, and she willingly obliged. Davey helped to hoist him onto the bicycle, and his little brother took off like a professional. Davey turned to Katherine, not trying to sound too stuck-up but curious all the same. Katherine was only too happy to answer all his questions, however; she rather liked this young intellectual.

"D'you know what type of wheeler this is?" Davey asked, and Katherine nodded, looking off after where Les was literally going around Specs in circles. "It's a Pneumatic-Tired Safety," she said a bit proudly. "My father bought it when he went down to Connecticut two weeks ago, and sent it to me. It's hell on my corset, though-" She stopped, looking at Davey, slightly embarrassed. "Sorry."

"It's fine," he said distractedly as he was too busy paying attention to his brother. Jack walked up with a scoff. "Look at 'im. He looks like he's gonna join that-what did ya call it, Ace?"

"The League of American Wheelers," Katherine said with a slight frown. "Which I could join, if I wasn't a girl."

"Yeah, that," Jack knew how Katherine was when it came to talking about things that men could do that women could not. With a breath that Jack knew would be followed by some comment about women's rights, Katharine went on. "It's not even the fact that I'm a girl. It's the fact that girls can't even go riding around in public without being stared at like animals in a zoo! If my father knew I was riding around in Central Park-luckily Bill's asked his father to not print any stories about me, but-"

"Hey," Jack broke in, putting a hand around her waist. "The real reason why that League don't want any women tah join is because they don't want goils like you showin' them up."

That cheered Katherine up immensely. "You're just not saying that?"

"I'm bein' serious! It's women like you they'se afraid of. Now, if they could get their hands on Les, then it's a different matter..."

"I'm sure he could be the best of those men," Katherine sighed slightly.

"If any o' those newspaper giants write anythin' about ya," Albert walked up, "We'll soak 'em!"

"Yeah!" Came the shout from the assembled newsies, and Katherine held up a hand, blushing slightly. "Thank you, boys, but that won't be nessescary."

"An' don't you all got papes tah sell?" Jack yelled at them good-naturedly. Les rode the bicycle back and left it at Jack's side. "Thanks, Katherine!" He chirped, and ran off to join his brother and Specs to go sell more. The air was soon alive with the papers' headlines, which all but dwindled away as the newsies left for other streets. Crutchie took one last longing glance at the wheeler, and turned the corner with a small spring in his step. Sometimes the bad leg was a gold mine for selling papers, but when it came to bicycles, Crutchie wasn't so sure. He had watched earnestly while the other boys rode, amazed at how easy it seemed, even when Katherine rode it in her skirts. And now he was filled with an unquenchable desire to ride it for himself, to feel the same as his friends while riding that machine. Crutchie knew nothing was impossible if he put his mind to it-after all, he had learned to dance last Christmas. He just needed a plan.


	2. Chapter 2

Jack's snores roared throughout the tiny apartment, thankfully keeping Katherine awake. The clicking of keys from her typewriter could scarcely be heard above Jack's thunder. She smiled slightly. Katherine loved her husband, but sometimes his snores were a bit too much. She groaned aloud at her article, putting her head in her hands. How could she write what she wanted to say without it coming out all wrong? With one last aggravated sigh, Katherine tore the paper from the restraining clutches of the typewriter, and threw it across the room where it joined a mass of other paper she had crumpled into balls. Katherine stood up, pulling back the chair with a slight scuffle against the wooden floor. She glanced to the bedroom, where Jack's snores still penetrated the walls. Thankfully the article wasn't due until three days from now, so she had time to tear up more faulty drafts if she wished. Katherine rubbed her eyes tiredly, yawning. She jumped slightly at a knock on the front door, and sleepily walked over to answer it. With another yawn she pulled open the door, and blinked in surprise. "Crutchie! What brings you here- at this hour? Jack's already asleep, I just stayed up late to work on an article of mine-do you need anything?" She ended concernedly, but Crutchie shook his head. "I wanted tah know if ya got any boxes."

Katherine raised her eyebrow, taken aback by this question. "Boxes."

"An' some rope?" Crutchie asked tentatively.

Katherine paused, and then turned to go inside. "I'll check," she said. "Come in."

Crutchie hesitantly limped inside, taking off his hat as he stared around at the apartment. He heard Katherine open the basement door and the soft thump of her feet as she walked down the steps. He walked over to the couch, sitting down. There were few family pictures of the Pulitzers, but Crutchie smiled at a large, messy painting of the city skyline with the sky of Santa Fe behind it. The newsies had given that to Jack last Christmas, and apparently he had still kept it. Crutchie looked to the basement door as Katherine opened it, carrying a sturdy brown box in her hands.

"I could only find one," she said dryly to Crutchie, who gratefully took the box from her. He turned it over in his hands, thinking. It wasn't too big nor too small, and gave just enough height to his bad leg when he placed his foot on the top. Of course, now his good foot dangled in the air, but that wouldn't be a problem. Crutchie's plan was simple: he would tie a box to his bad foot and pull the ropes to make it walk, or pedal, as was which he intended to do. Katherine returned with some rope, which Crutchie used to tie the box to his foot. He frowned as his fingers slipped from the knot a third time.

"Here," said Katherine gently, and knelt down to help him. Soon the box was neatly tied around his foot. Katherine glanced up into Crutchie's green eyes. "Now what are you planning to do with this?" She asked, demanding a little.

"It's a...surprise!" Crutchie forced out a smile. Katherine nodded confusedly, not wanting to question him further. "Okay. I suppose I'll find out sooner or later."

Crutchie nodded wisely, and stood up. His good leg now dangled a few inches up in the air, but that wasn't a problem. He glanced over to the couch, and sat down again, experimentally moving his bad leg with a pull of the ropes. Katherine stared at him, and he slowly lowered his foot to the floor, face turning a slight red. "This isn't about getting rid of the crutch, is it?" she asked him, and he shook his head adamantly. "Then I'd need a new name, wouldn't I?" he asked with a grin. Katherine chuckled. "Alright, you have your things. Why don't you go back to the Lodging House and get some rest?"

"Can ya help me take it off foist?" Crutchie asked, and Katherine nodded. "Like I said, I assume I'll be hearing what all this is for sooner or later, hm?" She quickly undid the rope and the box, and handed it to the boy, who stood up with the aide of his crutch. "Thanks, Katherine." Crutchie limped over to the door, carefully placing the rope over his shoulder and the box under his arm. Katherine shook her head, closing the door after he left. She watched him limp down the streets with the strange materials under his arm. Who knew why he needed it, anyways. But Katherine was sure that she would get to the bottom of this.

The door opened again with a small creak, and Crutchie stuck his head inside. "Katherine? One las' thing...where do ya keep your wheeler?"

"In the back," Katherine said quizzically. "Why?"

Crutchie shrugged. "No reason." Then he was gone.

Katharine turned away from the door, and swept into her bedroom she shared with Jack, gently climbing into bed. Jack's snores paused for a moment, and he put an arm around her. "Thought I heard voices."

"It was Crutchie," Katharine said as she snuggled into him. "He wanted a box and some rope. Don't ask me why."

Jack grunted. "Did ya give it to 'im?"

"Of course," she smiled slightly. "The boys know I'd do anything to help them out."

"Dunno why he'd want a box an' some rope, though."

"I don't know either. Now go back to sleep, it's late."

Her only reply was Jack's sonorous snores echoing through the bedroom once more.


	3. Chapter 3

"Dave! Hey, Dave! You seen The Journal yet?"

Specs ran up to Davey, almost out of breath. He dug out a paper and thrust it at him. "Look! They wrote some stuff about Katherine!"

"What?" Davey frowned, and took the paper to read it more closely. "The bicycle... new-fangled contraption is a waste of space...danger to the public at large...suitable for men only...Katherine Pulitzer, daughter of The World's publisher, was last seen riding through the streets of New York on a Pneumatic-Tired Safety Bicycle-that's it's real name, you know, it's not just called a wheeler-"

"Yes, I know," Specs said impatiently. Davey's reading was starting to draw the other newsies over. "Go on!"

"-dressed in very unwomanly attire. It has been suggested that her willingness to ride this bicycle is linked to her fanciful dreams of becoming a reporter for the New York Sun, and the rag-tag band of newsboys she consorts with."

"Why'd they bring us into this?!" came a shout. Davey glanced up. "Because they know that we can do something about this! Oh-that's it!" he said excitedly. "We go to Hearst, and tell him to stop printing this about Katherine."

"Wait, there's more!" Specs called. "Read it, Davey."

"Yeah, go on, Dave! Read it!"

"Alright." Davey glanced back at the newspaper, opening it up. He frowned at the picture that accompanied the article, but nonetheless read on. "Ms. Pulitzer's attempts to ride this so-called 'wheeler' throughout Manhattan will surely be noticed by the other upper class members of society. Is it enough that the incompetent Ms. Pulitzer has taken over a very highly desired man's job, and now she wants to arrogantly take over one of his favorite pastimes as well? More coverage to follow, if Ms. Pulitzer continues to ride this slanderous machine."

Davey looked up at all the newsies, staring out over their glum faces. He handed the newspaper back to Specs. "That ain't right, and we know it!" he told the crowd. "Mr. Hearst is publishing deceitful lies about Katherine-and all because he's jealous of her bicycle. We all know she's done more for us than any male reporter could do."

This was met with nods and murmurs of agreement.

"Then why should we let this continue to be published?! Katherine might lose her job because of this-and Jack might, too."

"Then why don't she jus' stop ridin' the wheeler?" asked a voice.

"Because-because that ain't the point!" Davey said, waving his hands wildly. "Why should she stop riding it? Just because Hearst said to? We didn't lie down an' take the stuff Pulitzer gave us! So why should Katherine?!"

"Yeah!" the newsies yelled. "So whaddawe gonna do, Dave?"

"Do? I'll tell you what we're gonna do! March right up to Hearst and tell 'im what's wrong with that article, that's what we're gonna do!"

The newsies quieted down for a second. "Ya really think we can?" asked a lone voice.

"Why, sure!" Davey said brazenly. "He's gotta listen to us. And if that doesn't work, we'll take Katharine with us! So who's with me?!"

The newsies all responded with an answering cheer, and Race and Crutchie moved to the forefront of the crowd. "We'll come with you, Dave," Race said, blowing cigar smoke into his face. Davey waved it away. "Alright. Let's do this."

The threesome were followed all the way to The Journal by the large crowd of Manhattan newsies, who were gradually joined by others who were interested in all the commotion. Davey, Race and Crutchie marched right up to the steps, and waited while Davey knocked confidently on the huge doors. Les ran through the multitude of newsies, trying to reach his brother, only to be scooped up by Specs and deposited on his shoulders to gain a better view of the action. The heavy wooden doors shut closed with an ominous bang, trapping the trio inside.

Davey, Race and Crutchie glanced around at the gleaming walls, high-vaulted ceilings and the rich array of elegant rugs splayed out on the floor. Race nervously fumbled for a cigar, almost tripping backwards and hitting a gold candelabra. Davey hurriedly reached out to steady his friend and the object before turning around to examine the hallway some more. The wide walls and silence was enough to engulf and smother the newsies, to make them forget why they were here.

Crutchie jumped as an office door was slammed open. He looked over to see a very heavy man with an impossibly large mustache resting on his face, as if it were a greasy ferret-type animal that could come jumping off at any second. The man sniffed and wiped his nose with a meaty finger, reaching down to glance at his gold pocket watch. The man grunted, as the time was apparently not up to his standards of decency. He noticed Crutchie staring at him after a moment, and peered at all three newsies with beady, rat-like eyes. "Who let you in here?" The man barked at them. "What do you want?!"

"Please sir, we need to speak to Mr. Hearst," Davey cut in before anyone else had a chance to speak. "It's a very important matter, and if he would just allow us to-"

"Mr. Hearst does not want to see anyone like you," the burly man dismissed them and trundled his way down the hallway, almost knocking Race down. "Sir, it's about an article that was published today-"

"Security!" The brutish man roared, ignoring Davey's attempts to show him the paper.

"-about Ms. Katherine Pulitzer, and her wheeler-"

The man stopped, and cast an unfeeling look to the trio, who tried their best to look as grown-up and clean as possible. "Are you boys the newsies? Friends of Ms. Pulitzer, I presume?"

"Yes, sir," Crutchie said after a moment's hesitation from all three of them. The man's look hardened, and he stalked towards the boys, getting right in Crutchie's face. Davey glanced at him worriedly, but Crutchie wasn't afraid. This big-shot was the same height as him. "You can tell Ms. Pulitzer from me," the man jabbed a fat finger at Crutchie's chest, but barely knocked him back. "That no woman like her deserves to own a wheeler, let alone ride one. It's best that men keep that to ourselves, hm?" His beady eyes searched the boy's clear green ones for some reaction. When he found none, the man grumbled something unintelligible and went on. "She's a loud, stuck-up busybody who believes in silly little things like strikes and women's rights. Tell her to fix her corset and go back to supporting her family with a decent job."

The man grunted and turned away from the boys with a snarky glare, almost as though he thought he had one this little battle. Race was having none of it, however.

"Look, mistah, if you says to keep the wheelers for men and all, why don'tcha drop a few pounds and ride one yourself?!" He asked quite impatiently while Davey and Crutchie shot him looks of horror.

The man raised a bushy eyebrow, and opened his mouth to address the newsies one last time. "Security!"


	4. Chapter 4

"And then these big hoity-toity men in real shiny black suits come walkin' out like they own the building, and throw us outside. An' that other fella jus' walked away like it was no big deal!" Race pounded his fist on the desk angrily. They were inside Jack's office at The World, having come as quick as they could. Jack nodded distractedly, and held his latest political cartoon up to the trio of sweaty, dirt-faced boys. "Think I should add more ink?"

Race buried his head in his hands while he and Crutchie both groaned. "No, I think you should add in some listenin' powder, evah hoid o' that?" Crutchie muttered. Davey just sighed in exasperation. "Look, Jack, we know you're busy, but for god's sake, this is your wife we're talking about! Katherine!"

"And I've been listenin'!" Jack said, affronted. "I don't see what else we can do before she gets 'ere-"

"Before who gets here?" asked a testy voice just before the office door slammed shut. The boys all turned to see Katherine standing there in a rage. She held out the article from that morning's edition of The Journal. "Did you see this?" She demanded. "Jack, did you see what they wrote about me?! If any of you boys sold this today-"

"No!" The newsies interjected quickly. "We didn't!"

Katherine huffed. "Good! Because I'd like to personally take back every single copy of today's paper and shove it down William Randolph Hearst's throat!"

Davey, Crutchie and Race all eyed each other nervously, mentally asking who would speak first. Meanwhile, Katherine continued her tirade. She slumped down in the available chair miserably. "How did he even know it was me? I even made sure to wear a hat and everything when I went riding!" Jack took the paper and flipped to the page with the article. He burst out laughing. Katherine immediately jumped up. "If you think the arguments against women's rights is funny, Mr. Kelly, then you can-"

"No, it ain't that," Jack laughed again, pointing at the picture. "Ace-that ain't even you! That's Race, an' he ain't even in Central Park!"

Katherine glanced over, seeing the truth. Race leaned over and grinned. "I'm famous!"

"But for the wrong reasons," Katherine said dryly. "Anyways, this is outrageous! I'm a laughing stock to the greater public. Now how will I be able to ride my wheeler?"

"Maybe you should stop ridin' for a while, an' wait until this all dies down-" Jack tried to suggest, but Katherine leapt to her feet. "Stop riding? Are you suggesting that I bow down and do exactly what Hearst said to do?!"

"I ain't sayin' that, but-"

The office door swung open, followed by William Hearst Jr, or Bill, as he was most often called. "I heard about your trip to the office today, boys," he said briskly. "I'm sorry Mr. Sullivan was so rude. If I had known earlier, I could have helped. How are you, Katherine?"

"Fine," she said quizzically. "What trip to the office?"

"Oh-well, Race, Crutchie and I took a walk down to the offices of The Journal, and asked them to stop printing that article about you-"

"But they threw us outta there instead," Crutchie interrupted Davey. "So we came right 'ere tah Jack."

"But he said to do nothin' until you got here," Davey finished. "So here we are."

"What was the name o' the fella who threw us out?" Race asked Bill. "Mr. Oliver Sullivan," he answered in disgust. "And if he isn't one of the most greediest, stuck-up arrogant men I know, then shoot me."

"Stuck-up...that's it!" Race turned to Katherine. "He was sayin' some real nasty words about you tah Crutchie!"

"Yeah!" Crutchie remembered. "Mistah Sullivan asked if we was friends o' you, an' of course we is, so he continues wit'-"

"'Tell Ms. Pulitzer from me that no woman like her deserves to own a wheeler, let alone ride one. She's a loud, stuck-up busybody who believes in silly little things like strikes and women's rights. Tell her to fix her corset and go back to supporting her family with a decent job,'" Davey quoted.

Race and Crutchie stared at him. "How'd you do that?" Race asked. Davey shrugged. Katherine stared at him in disbelief. "He really said that about me?" she asked lowly.

The boys nodded nervously. Katherine stood up, her mouth set in a grim line. "This is the last time Hearst or anybody will say anything about me! I am not a 'loud, stuck-up busybody'! I deserve a chance to do the same as any other man can do, and that includes riding a wheeler and organizing 'silly little strikes'! I don't understand why that awful man brought you boys into this."

"Because he knows we're the only ones who can do something about this," Davey repeated for the second time that day. "He's challenging us, saying that if we don't stick for you, then we can't stick up for anybody."

"An' that ain't true at all," Crutchie said. "We's with ya, Katherine."

"Yeah, we's with ya," Race said.

"'Fix my corset', indeed," Katherine muttered. "Thank you, boys, but-don't you have papers to sell?"

"We can go wit'out food for a night," Race said casually. "As long as we's doin' somethin' good like helpin' you, then we's set."

"And Les is out there with Specs and the gang, so my family won't mind," Davey added. "I'm sure Sarah will love to know more about your wheeler, anyways."

"What do we do, Bill?" Katherine asked him. "Did you ask your father not to print this?"

"Yes," he started uncomfortably. "But he claimed that he took no responsibility for his editor's actions. And he added that it made a...very sellable headline."

"'Sellable headline', my foot!" Katherine replied. "He just wants to make a profit."

"I'll ask him again," Bill said quickly. "But if he doesn't stop printing it, what will you do?"

"I'll visit his office, and tell him that if he doesn't stop printing those slanderous lies about me, I will kindly ask my father to start printing the deeply hidden scandals that he has uncovered while visiting the Hearst mansion," Katherine said viciously, and Jack glanced up from his work. "Remind me never to get on your bad side."

"An' we'll ask all the newsies tah stop sellin' The Journal until Mistah Hearst stops printin' this," Crutchie asserted. "There's more than enough room over 'ere at The World."

"Thank you," Katherine told him, not for the first time that day. "Thank you, boys, I mean it."

"And if Mr. Sullivan gives you anymore trouble, tell me," Bill added. "He won't give us anymore trouble if Hearst stops printing that article," Davey pointed out. "Which he will."

Katherine nodded. "Thanks. Again. Now, won't you please go sell more papers? It'll put my mind at ease if you at least get food in your stomachs today."

"We 'ad bread an' coffee from the nuns," Race grinned, but he, Davey and Crutchie were already moving out the door. "Shoo!" Katherine called after them, shutting the door behind the trio. She turned to Jack with a slight smile on her face. "Thank you, Jack."

"My boys did all the work," Jack said, keeping his eyes trained on his cartoon. Katharine walked over to him, resting her chin on his head so she could watch him sketch. "And they did a very fine job of it, too."


	5. Chapter 5

Nightfall fell quickly that evening, blanketing the sleepy city in a cover that hid all secretive movements from prying eyes. Crutchie put his foot on the ground, glancing up at the rickety fire escape which now towered above him. He slid his crutch out from the steps, hopping back slightly, which was as hard a job as any when you were carrying a box and some rope. Tonight was the night-the night he was going to ride a wheeler. He was going to ride it, or fall trying, Crutchie knew. This goal wasn't a selfish act; no, far from it. He just wanted to prove that he was an equal to the other boys in more ways than one-and that he could overcome such obstacles as his leg. If you could even call it an obstacle. Crutchie knew he couldn't simply ask Katherine or Jack to ride the wheeler. He would most likely get some response such as "It's too dangerous" from Jack, or, "It really is hard-even I find it hard, but that's with all my skirts and such-are you sure you want to? And anyways, don't you have papers to sell?" from Katherine. He didn't need her fussing over him like a mother-Mrs. Jacobs filled in that job for all the newsies. Taking one last look at the bedroom window nearly two floors above him to make sure he had closed it again, Crutchie started on his way to Katherine's apartment. Really it was Katharine and Jack's now, but who was he to start on the particulars? He stared up at the buildings towering around him, watching all the candles in each tenement being snuffed out by some invisible hand. Dim voices floated through the air to reach him, though he didn't really catch what any of them said. Shadows, like birds trying to find themselves a nest, flitted from window to window, occasionally caught and extinguished by the darkness or a street lamp. It was just another night of watching the city fall asleep before he did. Though it wasn't too late for everyone to be in their beds and starting to sleep, Crutchie had made sure that all the boys in the Lodging House were sound asleep before he left. He hadn't wanted them to know of his plan, or worse, tell him it was a bad one. Hopefully Jack and Katherine would be asleep by now as well, or at least that was what Crutchie thought once he saw their apartment. He snuck around to the back, standing there to admire the shining white wheeler. There it stood leaning up against the brick wall like some sort of monument to stand the test of time that seemed to wear down everything else in the city. Crutchie walked towards it hesitantly, reluctant to even touch it now that he was here. With a heavy hand, he grasped the leather-covered handlebar, and his resolve strengthened. He glanced over his shoulder warily, thinking he had heard a noise behind him. Carefully, he bent down to put the box and rope on his foot. That was a key tool if he was going to ride the wheeler. Once he had the box tied to his arm and foot, he nervously tested it. If he raised his arm, his bad foot went up, and if he lowered it, his foot went down. Perfect. Now all he needed to do was try it when riding the wheeler. With a sharp clatter of the wheels and pedals, Crutchie wheeled the bicycle out from the wall, and stood by it. He lifted his good leg over the side of the wheeler, going to sit on the leather seat. Crutchie smiled nervously, and lifted his bad leg onto the pedal. With a wild yank of his arm, his leg jerked up and he toppled off the wheeler with a mighty crash. Panicked, he covered his head, fully prepared to feel the weight of the machine come toppling down on him. He curled into a ball, heart beating faster than normal as he waited for someone to find him and discover his plan. Crutchie slowed his frantic breathing, peeking out from his hands. The wheeler had fallen the other way, and it seemed that no one had heard. He stood up again, glancing around in shame to see if anyone had noticed his mistake. Taking his crutch from the ground, he propped the wheeler up again and tried to sit on it a second time. His grin was even wider as this time he was successful, and put his hands on the handlebars in triumph. Now came the very hard part: he had to pedal. He had seen Katherine, Race, Les and Jack do it, of course, but they weren't the ones with the bad leg. With a reassuring look to his crutch which lay faithfully on the ground, Crutchie pushed off with his good leg. The wheeler began very slowly as it rolled out of the back, and Crutchie found that if he just gave his upper arm a slight tug or pushed it down, then his bad leg moved just fine with the pedal. Crutchie couldn't believe his eyes: he was riding a wheeler! Sure, he was going slower than the other boys, but that didn't matter. He kept his eyes straight ahead on the road, glancing occasionally to his feet. How easy it seemed, now, that he was actually going somewhere! He watched as buildings and street lamps passed him by, along with the occasional straggler that was walking their way home. All of a sudden, New York City at night was bright, and full of possibility and wonder. Anything could happen, now that Crutchie was riding a tried-and-true wheeler. He couldn't even begin to explain his feelings; was it happiness, or joy, or maybe even relief? All doubts were erased from his mind now that he felt the wind pull him as he rode with the wheeler. It was a feeling unlike any other, and Crutchie was simply happy that he hadn't fallen yet.

Famous last words.

Crutchie glanced up from the handlebars, his amazed expression quickly turning to fear as he noticed he had drifted off the main road. What was worse, a street lamp now barred his way. And he hadn't learned to turn yet. Crutchie yanked the handlebars wildly, but he was too close. That yank had pulled his bad leg up into the air, and in panic, he pulled his other foot off the pedal too. He rammed into the street lamp, falling sideways underneath the wheeler, which knocked the breath right out of him as it landed on him. With a screech of the pedals and chain, and the heavy clatter of the wheels as they scraped the dirt road, the wheeler flattened Crutchie to the ground. The wheels slowly stopped ticking as Crutchie tried to catch his breath, winded as he was. His arm was caught in between one of the pedals and the wheeler, and his bad foot had somehow become entangled in the wheel. He stared around at the wreckage, slowly becoming filled with a sick horror. He hadn't meant to break it, not at all! He was surely going to get in trouble now. Crutchie strained to lift his head, trying to see where he was. He hadn't gone far at all, really, having crashed just a few apartments over from Katherine's. Crutchie stretched his free arm out, trying to push the wheeler away from him. He gritted his teeth, crying out in pain as something in his other hand snapped. Crutchie shut his eyes tight, trying to block out the pain. He tried to get the wheeler off him, but suddenly it seemed like he was too weak to even do that. What was more, he had left his crutch behind Katherine's apartment. With a breath, he started calling for help. Crutchie was smart enough to know when something was wrong, and that he couldn't move this all by himself.

"Help!" he shouted as best as he could with a wheeler lying on his stomach, "Help, please! Help!"

Crutchie jumped slightly as a door slammed closeby. A dog in the distance began barking, and Crutchie tried calling for help again. Voices and pounding footsteps were walking closer and closer. Crutchie twisted his head over to see a giant of a man lumber towards him. The man shouted something unintelligible over his shoulder, and ran to Crutchie's side.

"Êtes-vous blessé, mon garçon?" the man asked, bending down beside him. "Est-ce votre vélo?" Are you hurt, boy? Is this your bicycle?

Crutchie shook his head. "I dunno what yous sayin', mistah," he said. The man frowned, and tried again. "You...hurt?" he asked, and Crutchie nodded. "Is this...yours?" the man gestured to the wheeler, and after a moment's hesitation, Crutchie shook his head no. The man's eyes hardened to a stony grey, and he carefully lifted the wheeler off the boy, and propped it upright. The wheels were mangled, and some of the paint was chipped. Crutchie stood up shakily, but just as quickly fell down again without his crutch. Blood was leaking through his pant leg, and he couldn't feel his right hand anymore. The Frenchman looked on concernedly, and decided to leave the bicycle where it was and help this boy for now. Even if he was a thief, he needed medical attention. The man picked Crutchie up in his arms and started carrying him down the street to an apartment right by Katherine's. This was not how Crutchie had wanted this night to go.


	6. Chapter 6

"Cécile, je suis de retour! J'ai trouvé le vélo."

A woman with messy dirty blonde hair tightened in a bun turned from the dishes she was scrubbing to see her husband at the door. She frowned at the person in his arms. "C'est un garçon, pas une bicyclette, Philippe." That is a boy, not a bicycle.

Philippe walked over to the lone couch and laid Crutchie down. Cecile hurried over to him, wielding a pot in her hands in case he became dangerous. Crutchie cringed away from the pot, looking over to the man. Had they brought him here just to knock him out? Cecile's mouth wavered, and she lowered the pot. With a glance to her husband, she began rapidly speaking in French. "Vous lui avez demandé si le vélo est le sien? Est-il gravement blessé? Etes-vous sûr qu'il n'est pas un voleur?" Did you ask him if the bicycle is his? Is he badly hurt? Are you sure he's not a thief?

Philippe chuckled slightly. "Je vous demande de regarder, chère épouse. Lui poser quelques questions. Vous savez mieux l'anglais que moi." I ask you to look at him, dear wife. Ask him some questions. You know English better than me.

Cécile nodded reluctantly, and bent down by Crutchie's side. He was very confused now, and feeling a bit lightheaded. Maybe he should have taken Davey up on his offer when he had tried to teach him French. "What is your name?" the woman asked with a slight lilt.

"Crutchie," he said nervously. "I didn't steal the wheeler, miss, I was jus' tryin' to ride it, it's Miss Katherine's who lives down the street, ya can ask 'er-"

Cécile held up a hand, stopping him. "Are you hurt?"

Crutchie glanced over to his leg, and sat up. "I..I think so. It's my leg, an' I think my 'and might be broken-" He stopped again as the woman rolled up his pant leg to examine the bleeding. She frowned at the gash inflicted there by the bicycle. "It is nothing," she dismissed it. "I will have you fixed up in no time...you said Ms. Katherine is the owner of the bicycle, yes?"

"Yeah," Crutchie said, and reluctantly held out his hand for the woman to see. Her frown returned as she gently took his floppy hand in hers. It was bent at an odd angle, and Crutchie winced, looking away as she moved it. "It is broken," Cécile said quietly, and then barked an order to her husband. "Obtenez-moi quelques bandages!" Get me some bandages!

Philippe disappeared into another room, and Cécile turned back to Crutchie. "My name is Cécile. That is my husband, Philippe. I will go to Ms. Katherine's to tell her." She stood up, crossing over to the door. Crutchie lowered his hand, and shifted on the couch. "My 'and ain't broken...fer good, is it?" he asked nervously, and Cécile hesitated. "No. It will be fixed."

Then she was gone.

Philippe headed back over to Crutchie with a roll of white linen in his hands. Crutchie held out his hand, heat rising to his cheeks as the man bandaged it. Unfortunately, the man noticed. With a slight pat on the cloth after it was done, Philippe took a small pad of paper and a pen from the table, and began to write.

_Do not be ashamed. Everyone falls their first time on a bicycle._

Crutchie read this, and nodded. He swallowed nervously. "Thought Ms. Katherine wouldn't let me 'cause I'm a crip," he admitted. Philippe shook his head and started to speak, but the door was flung open.

"Crutchie, are you okay?! What happened?!"

"Mrs. Lafontaine told us about your wrist-you okay?!"

Katherine and Jack rushed over to him, all in a panic. Katherine threw her arms around him, nearly crushing him in a hug, and then kneeled down to examine his wrist. She and him were both a bit embarrassed at the sudden embrace, but Crutchie had sort of liked it-not that he would say so to Jack or the other boys. "Well-your wrist is bandaged up nicely," Katherine stated. "Are your legs okay? Did you hurt them at all? Can you walk?"

"Here," Jack handed him his crutch. "Figured ya'd need this."

Crutchie lifted his legs off the couch and put them on the floor, shakily standing to his feet. He slid the crutch under his arm, and gingerly put his bandaged hand on the ledge, only just gripping the handheld. With a slight breath, he started to walk forward. Jack grabbed his forearm as he began to fall, and his feet scrabbled on the floor. Crutchie pushed himself upright again and Jack let him go as he took small steps across the room. He turned back to Jack and Katherine, smiling softly. But then he remembered why he was here, and his face fell. "'M real sorry I took your wheeler, Katherine," he said lowly, ashamed.

Katherine shook her head, and sat down on the couch. "Tell me next time, alright? The most important thing here is that you're not as badly hurt as you could have been."

"Yeah, tell us next time an' we'll help ya, awright?" Jack asked. "Like wit' the dancin'."

Crutchie nodded, and moved his crutch forward slightly. "Ya ain't mad at me fer the wheeler?"

"The wheeler can be replaced," Katherine said dryly, and then added more gently, "You can't. Nobody can, and that's why you need to tell us if you want to ride it again, alright?"

"Awright," Crutchie nodded, and turned as he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Philippe. "Thank you, sir," Crutchie began, but the man handed him a small piece of paper. Crutchie took it hesitantly, and glanced down to read it.

"Philippe's English is very good when he writes," Cécile interrupted him, and walked over to her husband. "It's better that he writes instead of talking."

Crutchie started reading again. _Do not be ashamed. Everyone falls their first time on a bicycle. What matters is that you tried to ride, instead of reminding everyone that you are a cripple._

He looked up at Philippe, sticking the note in his pocket. Crutchie held out his left hand, and Philippe grasped it firmly. "You...get better," he said haltingly. "Sorry...I thought...you were...thief."

"I kinda was," Crutchie said sheepishly. "But thank ya, sir."

"Let's go, Crutchie," Jack said, and helped him walk to the door.

"Thank you, Mrs. Lafontaine," Katherine said sincerely as they headed out into the night. "Thank you."

"Your bicycle is right outside," Cécile said with a small smile. "Good luck with the newspaper article, Ms. Katherine."

"Oh, I don't need luck, Mrs. Lafontaine," Katharine called to her. "I just need the newsies."


	7. Chapter 7

"Now up there a bit—oh, you're running out of paint, better get some more—"

"I got it jus' fine." Crutchie, Jack and Katherine were re-painting the wheeler the day after Crutchie's accident. It hadn't needed to be replaced at all, but the paint was chipped and the spokes were bent out of shape. It was nothing that Katherine and her boys couldn't fix in a day—maybe two. Jack had stopped and bought that day's edition of The Journal to see if Hearst had printed anything more about Katherine, and unfortunately he had. This time, Hearst had included quotes from various people who all thought of Katherine as an annoying spectacle when she rode the wheeler. Jack had gathered from the newsies that they were preparing to march on The Journal's offices tomorrow, if Katherine would just lend them her bicycle, and come to be a witness as well. The boy's hadn't heard about Crutchie's accident yet. Even though they had been a bit worried when he disappeared from the Lodging House, they had all just assumed he had gone to the streets or Jack and Katherine's apartment. Consequently, they didn't know about the bicycle's mishap, and that it needed to be fixed. Which was another reason why Jack, Katherine and Crutchie needed to get this done as soon as possible.

"Jack, ya painted the wheel!"

"Did I? Oops."

"That's my nose ya jus' painted!"

"Don't paint my nose!"

"Boys, calm down, it's just a bit of paint—Jack! You got it on my arm!"

"Figured you was missin' out on the fun, Ace."

"Take that, Jack Kelly!"

"Katherine!"

"Oops, sorry Crutchie. I was aiming for Jack—Father?!"

Katherine quickly put her paintbrush down and jumped to her feet, gathering her skirts around her. She tiptoed around the bicycle and walked over to Joseph Pulitzer, who was regarding the bicycle and the boys with a disheartening air of disdain. Whatever he wanted, it couldn't be good.

"Father, I thought we agreed that you wouldn't visit my apartment unless it was an emergency—" Katherine began through clenched teeth, but Pulitzer stopped her.

"I merely came to check up on you, dear. How are you enjoying your new bicycle?"

"It's very good, thank you," Katherine said, still not at ease. "What do you want?"

"Ah, that," Pulitzer said easily. "I was…informed last night that a newsboy stole your bicycle and broke it quite badly, as you seem to be painting it over again. But that's not all that's wrong with it, is there?"

"Father, Jack and I can handle this on our own, we do not need a visit—"

"Can you tell Crutchie I would like to speak with him?" Pulitzer interrupted abruptly.

Katherine glanced back at the duo, who were more busy flinging paint at each other than working on the bicycle. "How do you know it was him who took the wheeler—" she tried to say, but her father stopped her once again.

"That isn't very hard to figure out, now is it? He is the only cripple you know. I do have my informants."

Katherine sighed and called Crutchie over, desperately hoping that this wouldn't be a mistake she would come to regret.

"I thought you would have asked about the newspaper articles, Father," Katherine said while they waited.

"I trust you and the newsies have that under control, my dear," Pulitzer nodded. "For once, I agree with their actions." He turned as Crutchie limped up to them, giving a nervous little look to Katherine. "Ah, just the little man I wanted to see," Pulitzer stated. "Thank you, Katherine. If you'd mind, I'd like to speak to Crutchie for a while."

Katherine said nothing, but after giving a reassuring glance to Crutchie, left the two alone.

"Now, boy. Would you prefer sitting, or standing?" Pulitzer asked. "You must have had a rough fall last night, with the bicycle being as heavy as it is."

"I'll stand," Crutchie said warily, and then added as a precaution, "Sir."

Pulitzer nodded graciously. "Speaking of your bicycle accident. You aren't very badly hurt, are you?"

"Jus' my wrist is broken," Crutchie gestured with his free hand. "But other than that….no, sir."

"Good. Otherwise you could sue." Pulitzer eyed him, knowing full well that this street rat would never think to do such a thing, nor find the money to do so. Crutchie shifted nervously. "Whaddaya want, sir?" he asked.

"The bicycle," Pulitzer began. "As I see it, is very badly broken. The wheels are damaged, and most of the paint is chipped—"

"But we's paintin' it over, and Jack's gonna fix the wheel," Crutchie interrupted, turning and pointing where Katherine and Jack were keeling by the machine.

"Don't interrupt," Pulitzer said sharply, and Crutchie turned back slowly. "As I was saying, the bicycle is very badly damaged. Someone has to pay for it, and it will not be me."

A moment passed as Crutchie understood. He pointed to himself with a slight frown. "Ya want me tah pay fer it? Mistah Pulitzer, I don't got that type o' money—"

"You broke the bicycle, didn't you, hm?" Pulitzer asked him rhetorically. "And that means you have to pay for it."

"But I don't got that type o' money, sir—"

"You will get it," Pulitzer fixed him with a stern glare. "I assure you. Or you'll go to jail."

"The Reguge is closed, Mistah Pulitzer—" Crutchie blurted out.

"But there are plenty of other juvenile delinquent centers in New York, aren't there?" Pulitzer asked him. "I've heard of a fine one on Coney Island, where its inhabitants are sure to be reformed and rehabilitated."

"Ya can't jus' send me there, Mistah Pulitzer—"

"And why can't I? You certainly deserve it, after what you did to my daughter's birthday present. And from what I heard, you even stole a box and rope from her to assist your leg while riding the machine."

"I didn't steal nothin', she _gave_ that tah me—"

"But as I said before," Pulitzer carried on like he had not heard him, "Jail is only an option if you do not give me the money in…let's say, two day's time."

"Two days?!" Crutchie exclaimed in disbelief.

"Get the money however you will. Katherine has told me all about the newsies' ways to wheedling out money from customers." Crutchie highly doubted that Katherine had told him anything; Pulitzer had goons stationed on nearly every street corner in Manhattan. "I need two hundred dollars."

Crutchie's eyes widened. "Two hundred?!" He couldn't even get two dollars in two days, how was he supposed to find two hundred dollars?

"That is what I said. Your ears weren't damaged in your fall, were they?"

"No, sir," Crutchie swallowed, and started to turn away, his mind spinning around this new problem.

"Oh, and one more thing," Pulitzer stopped him by placing his hand on his shoulder. "If I find that you've asked my daughter or anyone for help, you _will_ be put in jail."

Crutchie nodded hesitantly, and Pulitzer released him. "Good boy. Now run along—pardon me. Go along now. Goodbye, and remember—two days."

Crutchie gave him a small glare, but limped back to Katherine and Jack.

"What'd he want?" Jack asked, and Crutchie picked up a paintbrush. "He told me off fer wreckin' the wheeler. Said if I…did it again, worse things would 'appen."

Jack huffed. "Dunno why he came 'ere personally tah tell you that."

"Yeah," Crutchie said nervously, his mind turning back to the problem of the money. "Me neithah."


	8. Chapter 8

"We want her rights! We want her rights! We want her rights!"

Hearst's office was getting the same treatment that Pulitzer's had during the strike. A multitude of newsies were gathered outside the doors, chanting over and over again. The office windows had been slammed shut a little while ago, but that had only encouraged the crowd. Their voices rose into the midday sky, ultimately becoming stronger with each breath. Their chant was broken by sudden loud cheers that accompanied Katherine and Jack's arrival. The duo bowed and nodded graciously, his arm around her waist as she wheeled the bicycle up to the double doors. Katherine took a deep breath as the crowd fell silent, awaiting her word. She closed her eyes, muttering a few lines of her speech under her breath. Katherine smiled and turned to address the newsies. They greeted her with screams and yells even louder than before.

"Newsies of Manhattan!" Katherine began as they quieted down again. She gave a glance to Jack who had taken control of the wheeler while she spoke. He gave her a reassuring nod that she seemed to draw strength and comfort from, and turned back to the crowd.

"I thank you for all you've done regarding my wheeler. But now, as you well know, comes the hard part." She took in another breath. "Hearst will either agree to our demands, or not. He can agree to stop printing these articles about me and allow me to ride my wheeler without anymore fuss, or—"

"Or we'll soak 'im!" yelled a voice, followed by cheers. Katherine smiled dryly. "Yes, thank you. But I'd prefer for that not to happen….yet. Davey, Specs, and oh, Crutchie, can you come up here please? The rest of you can wait outside while we go inside."

The other newsies cheered their comrades as they walked (and limped) up to Katherine's side. A few started chanting again, and soon the whole crowd was caught up in a frenzy. Katherine smiled and waved at them as she entered the building, and gave Jack a quick kiss as she went in. The crowd cheered even louder after that display of affection, and Jack was greeted by questions and yells as he wheeled the bicycle away from the huge double doors. He stole a glance back up to the windows of the office. Now all they had to do was wait.

Katherine had been to The Journal's offices many times before, and thus knew exactly where she needed to go. The three boys, who were not used to all this grandeur under one roof, stopped and stared at the various furniture and lights and trinkets that seemed to be everywhere. With a nervous call from Katherine the newsies hurried up to her side. She craned her neck to look anxiously up the wide stairs, and nodded to the boys. "Let's go."

They had almost reached the next landing when Specs stopped, starting as if he had forgotten something. He turned around and looked to the bottom floor.

Crutchie looked back at him hesitantly, and held up his bandaged hand. "Can't really hold my crutch an' walk up the stairs at the same time," he admitted. Specs adjusted his spectacles and thudded down the steps to reach him. Specs took Crutchie's arm, and lifted him in the air to carry him.

"Never fear, I gotcha," Specs grinned, and Crutchie rolled his eyes. "Ya sound like Spot Conlon," he muttered. "'Never fear, Brooklyn's 'ere!'"

"Yeah, maybe they'll come, too," Specs chuckled, and began to carry him up the stairs.

"Boys?" Katharine called, still fraught with anxiety.

"We're comin'!" the pair called, and reached Davey and Katharine just a few minutes later. Specs deposited Crutchie back on the floor, and gave him his crutch.

"Now remember," Katharine began as she walked over to the door of Hearst's office. "We're here on a business meeting. Try to stay calm."

"Of course, Katharine," Davey spoke for the three of them. "Specs, you got the evidence?"

Specs nodded importantly, digging out some papers from his pocket. "Yup."

Katharine chuckled. "This isn't a murder trial, boys."

"Not yet," Specs said under his breath, and Crutchie looked at him. "Get up on the wrong side o' bed today?" Crutchie asked, and Specs rolled his eyes, following after Davey.

If the hallways of The Journal's offices had been grand, then Hearst's personal office was more grand than all the high-class buildings in New York put together. Brocaded curtains covered the windows to block all sunlight—and the cries of newsies—from outside this sanctuary of business. Katharine breathed in deeply and then wrinkled her nose, having caught one too many smell of cigar. She glanced to the boys and quickly nudged Davey, reminding them that they were here on official business. Specs and Crutchie continued staring around the office, amazed and slightly disgusted that one person could have these many rich things. Katharine cleared her throat and took the 'evidence' from Specs, throwing it on the desk in front of them. She waited expectantly as the chair behind the desk slowly turned to face the new arrivals. Sitting there was a strong shouldered man dressed in a plain black suit and tie. He eyed first the newsies, and then brightened as he saw Katharine, though he didn't smile that much.

"Hello, Miss Pulitzer," he said warmly, rising. "Quite a pleasure."

"Why haven't you stopped printing those articles about me?" Katharine demanded. "And don't give me 'Because they sell well'. I want the truth."

"You obviously do not understand the art of business making," Hearst continued, the smile gone. "Whatever I do, I do to make a profit. I believe your father understands this as well."

"He does not print things at my expense to make a profit," Katharine shot back. Hearst sighed. "I did not write the articles, Katharine. My executive editor did."

"So you're claimin' no responsibility for the lies your editor wrote about Katharine, even though you printed the articles?" Davey jumped in. He indicated the papers on the desk. "Those pictures you printed along with the articles? They're not Katharine. They're of my friend, Racetrack Higgins."

Hearst glanced up at him. "And who are you?"

"Davey Jacobs," Davey said a bit proudly. Specs and Crutchie snickered a bit before remembering they were in the presence of William Randolph Hearst.

"So you see, sir," Davey continued trying to ignore the snickers, "Not only have you printed false evidence, you've paired it with lies that—"

"That can make me accidentally spill some of your family's deepest and darkest secrets," Katharine interrupted sweetly.

Hearst leaned back in his chair. "Unfortunately, I did not write these articles, Katharine. My editor—"

"I wrote them," interrupted a burly, barking voice from the office door. It was Oliver Sullivan.


	9. Chapter 9

"Yous the editor?" Crutchie asked. "How—why'd ya—"

"Why did I write them?" Mr. Sullivan shot out, lumbering over to the group. "Because I wanted to enlighten the public, Miss Pulitzer. Show them that, even after the success of your little strike last year, you can be brought down."

"I won't have my rights taken away," Katharine responded calmly. "A woman is allowed to ride a bicycle the same as any man."

"And ruin her reputation while doing so!" Sullivan retorted. "With all that's happened in the past week, you still persist to ride your bicycle—and even forgive the thief that stole it from you!"

Davey and Specs followed Sullivan's gaze to Crutchie, who looked from left to right nervously.

"Ya stole Katherine's wheeler?" Davey asked.

"No!" Crutchie potested, and then paused. "Maybe a little. I—I wanted tah ride it!"

"Ride it?!" Specs said incredulously. "But Crutchie, you're a—"

"I'm a what?" Crutchie shot back. "If yous gonna say it, Specs, then say it to my—"

"Boys!" Katherine reprimanded them. She took a step towards Sullivan. "Don't you dare make this about Crutchie. After all that's happened, don't you dare make this about him. We're here to talk about the articles about me. Don't drag my friends into this."

"I believe you already have, Ms. Katherine," Sullivan reminded her. "If you just look outside."

Katherine closed her eyes and took a breath. "Mr. Sullivan. I insist you stop the publication of these articles straight away."

"Or what?" Sullivan asked with mock interest.

"Or I will do some investigating of my own, and you can be sure that the next article of mine The Sun publishes will be all about your family scandals, which I know you have quite a few," Katharine said venomously. "Bill was ever so kind as to fill me in."

Sullivan hesitated, eyes darting from side to side. "What will I get if I stop the publication of these articles?"

"A free pass," Davey said evenly. "Because Katharine could do much worse."

"Fine," Sullivan spat out the word, his mind quickly calculating all his options.

"So no more articles about Katharine," Specs stated. "Or her wheeler."

"Or we'll find you," Crutchie spoke up fiercely, and Davey looked at him with his eyebrows raised.

"An'…..remind ya not tah print out anymore articles about Katharine," Crutchie continued. Davey nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Sullivan.

Sullivan's lip curled. "I see you can't win your arguments by yourself, Miss Pulitzer. You have to have three dirt-faced, grubby orphans to win it for you."

"And yet they're cleaner than you will ever be, Mr. Sullivan," Katherine said lowly, tilting her head slightly. Sullivan gave her one last glare and grabbed the doorknob, yanking it open to outside. "Good day, Mr. Hearst."

"Good day, Mr. Sullivan," Hearst said evenly. With a bang, the door was slammed behind Sullivan's stocky figure, leaving the trio and Hearst alone in the office.

Davey cracked a smile. "We won!"

"That's the second time we gone up against a big shot like 'im an' walked out alive," Specs said, and then remembered who they were in the presence of. "Sorry, sir."

"It is quite alright," Hearst eased himself out from behind his desk, walking up to the door, pulling it open again. "Goodbye, Katharine."

"Goodbye, Mr. Hearst," Katharine said, leading the newsies out the door like a mother duck. "Have a good day."

"You as well," came the answering reply from within the office. The door was closed with a gentle creak, and Katharine led the way down the hall to the stairs. It didn't take long before—

"Tell me again why ya rode the wheeler, Crutchie?" Specs asked him with an edge to his voice.

"I jus' wanted tah try it," Crutchie said smally. "You gotta problem with that, Specs?"

"Ya coulda been hurt real bad!" Specs said. "What was you thinkin'?! You're a cripple!"

Crutchie stopped in his tracks. "Ya think I'm too weak tah ride a wheeler?" he asked. "Too slow?"

Specs sighed. "Crutch….all I meant was…."

"Ya think I can't do the same things you an' the other fellas do, 'cause I'm a crip?" Crutchie asked him. He shook his head, limping past the others. "Thanks, Specs."

"He doesn't mean that," Davey said, hurrying up to him. "We all know you can do most things a cripple wouldn't be able to do, and—"

Crutchie glanced at him. "I knows ya know, Dave."

Specs hurried up beside him, ashamed. "Sorry, Crutchie. I was….I didn't think you'd…."

"Be able tah ride it?" Crutchie guessed correctly. An awkward silence hovered in the air between them for a few seconds, and then Specs pushed his spectacles up onto the bridge of his nose. "I won't underestimate you again," he spat on his hand and gave it to Crutchie, who did the same.

Katharine breathed a sigh of relief. The last thing she needed was the newsies fighting over her bicycle. She picked up her skirts and started to walk downstairs. "Thank you, boys," she said when they reached the landing, and hugged them all, ignoring their muffled words of protest. "I mean it," she eyed them. "Without you….well…."

"You're welcome," Davey said with a nod. "Anytime," Specs said. "We 'ope not," Crutchie chuckled upon hearing Specs' comment. Katherine smiled. "Ready to tell everyone else?"

"Course," the boys answered as one. Katharine pushed open the heavy wooden doors to reveal the blinding sunlight only partially blocked by dozens of newsboy caps and heads. They exploded with cheers as their comrades appeared, their happiness soaring up into the sky to join the clouds. Their second victory had come to fruition, and everyone was more the wiser for it.

Except maybe one.


	10. Chapter 10

Joseph Pulitzer sighed, leaning back in his high-backed chair as he surveyed the headlines to be printed tomorrow. He blinked, laying the paper back on his wooden desk. There were some nights that he made a decision quite quickly, but apparently this wasn't one of them. He glanced up tiredly as the door to his office opened. In strode Katharine and Jack Kelly, evidently not making a simple house call.

Katharine swished over, taking out something from her pocket. She placed it on her father's desk, right on top of the newspaper he had been reading. "There you are, father," she said shrewdly. "The two hundred dollars."

"And whatever do I need those for?" Pulitzer eyed her in mock bewilderment. Katharine fixed him with a stern look. "Don't play games, Father. You told Crutchie he needed to give you two hundred dollars by today for the bicycle."

Pulitzer sighed, taking the money with a thin, outstretched hand. "And did he explain what would happen if he did not give me the money himself?"

"No, but—"

A horrid thought started to dawn on Jack. "What did you do, Joe?!" he blurted out, and Pulitzer turned his chair away, gesturing towards the window. "Look outside, Mr. Kelly."

Jack raced to the window, a lump slowly forming in his throat. He thrust aside the curtains, peering down onto the streets. A black horse-drawn carriage stood outside, it's back doors flung wide open. Jack watched in horror as two helmeted officers dragged the small, struggling figure of Crutchie towards the carriage.

"No, I didn't do anythin'! Lemme go, ya can't prove anythin'! Help, somebody!"

Crutchie tore his arm away from the copper, glancing up to the shaded windows of The World's offices. He caught sight of Jack standing there, and he seized on a small hope. "Jack! Jack, 'elp! Tell 'em I got the money—Jack, please!"

Pulitzer joined Jack at the window, watching the small fight going on below with a cold, disdainful air. "Would you like to join him, Kelly?"

"You can't make those kinda threats anymore, Joe," Jack threw at him. "We gave you the money. Let him go."

"I'm afraid it doesn't work like that, Jack," Pulitzer said easily. "You see, Crutchie and I had a deal. He had to give me the money himself. Not you or my daughter."

"Jack, help!" Crutchie cried out again. The officer grabbed his crutch away, and pushed him to the street. Crutchie crumpled to the ground, hitting his head on the back of the carriage with a thud. The officers lifted his legs up and threw him into the carriage, cruelly slamming the doors on him. Jack watched all this in growing fear, and finally turned on Pulitzer.

"Let him go!" Jack shouted. "Ya know he couldn't 'ave gotten that money—jus' let him go, or I'll go after that carriage myself!"

"And then poor Crutchie will gain an inmate," Pulitzer shot back. "Look at your options, Kelly. You can easily get him out after a week has gone by—long enough for him to learn his lesson. I'll even give you the money to do so. Or you can chase after the carriage, which I believe is well on its way to Coney Island, and earn yourself a jail cell as well."

Jack glanced out the window again, and sighed. "Fine. We'll do it your way."

"Thank you," Pulitzer said graciously, and walked away. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have other work to attend to. When I don't threaten your pathetic little newsboy friends, I do paperwork. Now, is there anything else you'd like to interrupt me with, Katharine?"

"No, father," Katherine kept her biting comments inside, and turned to go. She pulled Jack by the arm, waiting only until the door was shut behind them to announce her plan.

"I'm going to break him out."

Jack took his arm out of hers, thoroughly taken aback. "What?! Ace, ya can't be serious!"

"I am serious," Katharine countered. "I already have a plan."

"But—how?!" Jack persisted.

"Jack," Katharine turned to him, and kissed him on the cheek. "Listen to me. I have a chance, and I'm going to take it. I won't let Crutchie get hurt anymore because of my bicycle."

"This ain't about the wheeler anymore, Ace—"

"No, but this happened because of it," Katharine said. "And I'm going to fix it."

Jack sighed, but reluctantly agreed. "You wouldn't do anything else, would you?"

"Not when it comes to this," Katharine asserted, and continued walking down the stairs. "Now, Jack. If you can find trousers and a cap my size, we'll be all set to go tomorrow."

"Huh?" Jack hurried after her.

"I can't ride my wheeler to Coney Island in my _skirts_, can I?"


	11. Chapter 11

"Jack, can you help me with this suspender?"

Katharine fiddled with the strap, walking into the parlour, where Jack and a few of the newsies were waiting. Jack's eyebrows went straight up as his wife walked in, outfitted in black boots, brown argyle socks, grey trousers and a pink checkered collared shirt that she was trying to wrestle the suspender over. Jack chuckled, standing up to help her.

"I don't know how you all manage each morning," Katharine muttered as Jack fixed the suspender on her shoulder. She looked up into his eyes. "Never mind, I take that back. A corset is much more trouble than this."

"I 'ope I won't ever have to try that on," Jack laughed. Katherine smiled mischievously. "You never know." She winked at him, and walked over to the boys. "You all know the plan?"

"Go about our business as usual," Davey stated. "And if anyone asks us about Katherine, we say…"

"She's gone to visit her cousin on the other side of the city," Race finished.

Katherine grimaced. "And even though I hate to even think of that, that's the lie I'll be giving my father as well. Thank you, boys."

"Ya sure ya don't want me along?" Jack asked, and Katherine smiled at him nervously. "I'll be back before you know it, Jack. Don't worry about me. Or Crutchie."

"But what if you gotta carry 'im out or somethin'—" Jack tried to say, but Katherine stopped him by placing her hand on his arm. "He'll be fine. Don't worry."

She turned away, heading out the door. "Bye, Jack. Goodbye, boys."

Katherine closed the door behind her, and breathed deeply in preparation for her journey. She was ready as she'd ever be, and needed to be, too. Katherine ran over to her bicycle, overjoyed at the prospect of running without being held up by her skirts. She wheeled it out from the wall, and set out through the city streets, finally free of that nagging doubt that had always accompanied her on her rides. No longer would she pay attention to the accusing stares of passerby. She couldn't, not on this journey. Katharine had a mission, and she was determined to complete it. It took little more than an hour to arrive at the harbor, from which she boarded a boat, taking the bicycle with her and ignoring all the looks from the other passengers. Katharine made her way to an empty seat and sat down, dead tired. Never had she ridden her bicycle so far, and without stopping. Katharine bowed her head, nearly going to sleep as the rocking of the boat lulled her to sleep.

"Ex—excuse me?" asked a timid voice in front of her. Katharine glanced up to see a young black girl with pigtails approach her shyly. "Is that your wheeler?" the little girl asked.

Katharine nodded with a small smile.

"I like it," the young girl said, and went to sit next to Katharine on the bench. "I like it very much."

"Thank you," Katharine said, and they sat in silence for a moment, the young girl staring at her boots.

"Why did you bring it on a boat?" the girl asked.

"I'm—I'm going to rescue someone," Katharine said, deciding to lay all her cards out on the table. "And I can do it faster if I have my bicycle."

"You're going to rescue someone?" the little girl asked, her admiration for the strange young woman going up a notch. Katharine nodded. "Is it a good someone?" the girl asked.

"Yes," Katharine said. "Yes, he is."

"Does he like your wheeler?"

Katharine chuckled. "Yes. He does."

"Does he know you're going to rescue him?"

"No, I'm afraid he doesn't."

"Does he want to be rescued?"

Katharine glanced over to the little girl, who was still staring down at her boots. "He does want to be rescued," Katharine answered. "Very much so."

"Anita!"

The little girl glanced up and quickly hopped off the bench. She turned to Katharine. "Thank you, miss. I hope your friend's okay." With that, she pranced off to a couple who could be none other than her father and mother. The woman peered at Katharine in suspicion, but seemed relieved as her little girl jumped up to sit next to her, hugging her. Katharine smiled back gently, thankful for the distraction. But she really needed to sleep.


	12. Chapter 12

Crutchie awoke with a start, knocking his head against the stone wall. He reached up a hand, frowning as he noticed his hat was missing. He had definitely had it last night, but-oh. He slumped down, spirits sinking as he remembered the carriage, and the coppers, and then the journey to Coney Island. Not that he had seen much, as he had been stuck inside the carriage the whole way. Crutchie's forehead stung from where he had banged it on the back of the carriage, and he knew his legs were bruised and aching all over. He glanced around for his crutch, finding the hard wood lying on the ground next to him. He breathed a sigh of relief, and started to stand. It looked like he was in some jail cell, as evident by the handcuffs around his wrists. Crutchie's feet scrabbled on the floor, and he fell more than twice as he tried to get. Crutchie fell back with an "oof!", hitting his head on the dirt floor. Crutchie rolled over on his side, and sat up to peer around the jail cell. His eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light, and didn't see that anyone else was in the cell with him.

Crutchie was thrown onto his back as a figure came flying towards him. The person looked at Crutchie with a haunted, haggard face, and then yanked the boy to his feet.

"Gimme your money," the person growled, and Crutchie noticed with shock that it was a woman. "All of it! Now!"

"I don't got any!" Crutchie shouted, and the woman started shaking him. Crutchie frantically tried to keep his hands on his pockets, but the woman reached in and grabbed the few pennies and dimes he had. Crutchie was dropped to the ground painfully while the strange woman walked away menacingly. He rolled over again, and started to search his pockets for any money he had left. Crutchie watched as the woman stood up and walked over to the cell door, calling for the guards.

"I got money!" she yelled wildly. "I got money, now get me outta here! I can pay you!"

Crutchie's fingers landed on something round and hard in his pockets. Drawing it out, he saw with happiness that it was a whole quarter. Quickly, he stuffed it down his shoe as the woman turned to him again.

"What's your name?" she barked, apparently not having success with the guard outside.

"Crutchie," he said slowly, watching her pace around.

"You ever been in a place like this, Crutchie?"

"Yes, ma'am," Crutchie said quickly. "The Refuge, in Manhattan-"

The woman burst into laughter. She continued laughing almost insanely, and collapsed to the ground in a heap, shaking with laughter. Crutchie sat there, not daring to make any sudden movements. Whoever she was, this lady definitely needed to be in the insane asylum.

At long last, the woman looked up at him through fractured, clear blue eyes. "You called me ma'am."

"Yeah," Crutchie said, and the woman burst into laughter again. This continued for a few minutes, until the woman abruptly stopped and looked over at him slyly. By this time, Crutchie was thoroughly creeped out.

"Lemme tell you something, kid," Crutchie slowly backed up as the woman crawled over to him, her bare feet digging in the dirt. Crutchie's skin crawled as he noticed the dirt underneath the woman's abnormally long fingernails, and her matted, greasy brown hair. Her face was pale white, and her eyes had a translucent quality to them. Her once-fine dress was now in tatters, and she leaned over Crutchie almost too close for comfort.

"This place is nothing like your little Refuge," Her breath was hot as she panted down Crutchie's neck. "It was lorded over by Snyder, wasn't it? Think of him, and then multiply him. You see those two guards outside our cell?" The woman pushed Crutchie back into the ground so that she was almost on top of him. "They're like Snyder, but ten times worse. Don't think they won't hesitate to crack your precious little skull because they will-"

Crutchie sat up and scooted away from her as fast as he could. The woman lurched back and stood up, satisfied with scaring him.

"So, why're you in here, kid?" the woman asked.

"I'se a newsie," was the first thing that came to Crutchie's mind. The woman laughed again. "Got caught for 'improvin' the truth', then? Maybe stealing food, or clothing?"

"What's yer name?" Crutchie demanded, and the woman shot a steely glare at him. "Answer my question."

"Answer mine," Crutchie argued.

"I asked you first," the woman said bitingly.

Crutchie shrugged. "I asked ya second." He wasn't really scared of this woman.

"I asked you first!" the woman screamed in his face, and they both looked over to the jail doors as one of the guards banged on them. "Quiet down!"

The woman looked back to Crutchie. "My name's Rosa."

"I stole a wheeler," Crutchie said, and then immediately fixed his statement. "I got framed fer stealin' it, actually-I did steal it, but it was my friend's, an' then 'er dad said if I didn't give 'im two hundred dollars, I'd go tah jail, an' here I is."

Rosa raised an eyebrow. "Who's your friend's dad?"

"Joseph Pulitzer," Crutchie deadpanned.

"HEY!" one of the guards yelled at them. "If you can't be quiet, I'm comin' in there!"

"Sorry, mister," Rosa began sweetly, slowly standing up. "We're just minding our own business and all-"

"He told ya to be quiet!" the other guard snapped, and tossed the keys to his friend. Crutchie quickly scooted away to the corner of the cell as Rosa confronted the guard who had stepped inside. Crutchie saw the club in his hands, and scooted away even farther.

"Now, mister, I think you're taking it a bit too-" Rosa tried to intervene, but the guard shoved her down and struck her with the club. Crutchie winced as she yelled out in pain, and tried to stand up.

"Stop 'urtin' 'er!" he yelled, and the guard looked over to him. He grinned, and walked over to Crutchie. "Ya wanna know why we put ya in this cell, gimp? It was 'cause we could get ridda you faster! That woman, there-no one ever lasts long with her. She's so crazy, she tries to get everyone in here with her killed! And that's exactly what's gonna happen to you, ya lousy crip!"

Crutchie yelled out as the man dragged him out from the corner and started beating him. He curled up in a ball, shaking as tears threatened to break free from his eyes and stream down his face. He put his hands up as a weak defense, frantically trying to push the guard away.

"No...please! Stop, please, I didn't do anythin'-PLEASE!" Crutchie screamed out, and Rosa glanced over at him. She slowly stood up, rattling her handcuffs. Something in her face softened, wiping away years of hardship and pain in the rehabilitation center. "He told you to stop," she said dully, slowly walking over to the pair.

"I'm doin' my work," the guard said viciously, ignoring Crutchie's cries of pain that gradually got weaker and weaker. "I wanna earn my day's pay for this!"

Rosa held up a hand, stopping the incoming club up in the air. The guard looked at her, and she thrust him and the club away as hard as she could. The guard slugged her in the face and she crumpled to the ground. He walked away again, leaving the cell.

Crutchie's chest heaved as he started to sit up, but it was painful just doing that. Rosa went over and helped him sit up. He winced as she touched his side, and looked up at her.

Rosa slapped him across the face.

"Why'd you tell him to stop hurting me?" she hissed. "Look at what he did to you!"

"Ya didn't desoive tah be beaten up eithah," Crutchie pointed out, and Rosa slapped him again. Crutchie turned his face the other way, watching Rosa seethe with anger out of the corner of his eye.

"You could have been seriously hurt," Rosa stood and started pacing again. "All for stealing a wheeler! Crutchie-" She stopped, and looked at him with an expression of such motherly love that Crutchie was almost scared again.

"Look, I barely knows you, let's jus' stop all this an' wait fer food or somethin'-" Crutchie tried to say, and Rosa started laughing again.

"Food? Food, Crutchie? You have got to be kidding me. After what they did to us today, we won't be getting food for a long time," she stated, and looked at him again with that same expression. "Don't you know who I am?"

"Ehhhhhhh, ya said your name's Rosa," Crutchie stammered.

She didn't answer him. Crutchie looked to the ground, and back up at her.

"Alright," he said reluctantly. "Who are ya?"

"I'm Rosa, who'd ya think I was?" She laughed again, and walked over to ruffle his hair. "Silly boy. I bet you thought I was related to you or something, isn't that right?"

"No, I jus' thought you was bein' creepy," Crutchie admitted, and Rosa bent down in front of him. She smiled. "I like you."

"Good," Crutchie said. "I like me, too." He cracked a smile as Rosa started laughing. She sat down, pulling her legs underneath her.

"You aren't badly hurt, are you?" she asked seriously, and Crutchie shook his head no. Rosa took him by the arm, and pulled him to his feet. He grimaced in pain as she started to help him walk. They slowly shuffled across the cell until Crutchie lost his footing and went down with a crash. He yelped, and pushed Rosa away as she helped him sit up. He scooted away from her, drawing his legs in around him. "We's gonna be stuck in 'ere anyways, why're you doin' this?" he asked all at once, looking over his shoulder to her.

"Because," she answered, and sat in front of him. "I like you." With a swish, she drew her dress in over her legs, and folded her hands together. "Now that we're all comfortable, let's talk about us. Since we're going to be roommates, I want to know everything about you."

Crutchie glanced up at her, confused. "Ya do?"

"I do. You start. Where did you say you were from, again?"


	13. Chapter 13

"Excuse me! Excuse me!"

Katherine stood at the front desk of the rehabilitation center, clutching her hat in her hands. She waited anxiously, and then called out again.

"Excuse me?"

"What do you want, lady?" a brisk voice asked as a tall, lanky man with red hair emerged from within. Katherine stiffened, but stood her ground. "I'm here to see a convict….Crutchie Morris."

The man sighed, and dejectedly lifted up his stack of papers. He rifled through them for a few minutes, and then sighed again. He glanced up to Katherine, and moved out from behind the counter. "Follow me," the man instructed sadly, and shuffled wearily down the hall. Katherine quickly became appalled at the conditions here; it was like Jack's drawings of the Refuge had jumped off the paper and became real, only ten times worse. Women and men were huddled in cramped quarters, and occasionally Katherine glimpsed the once bright and shining eyes of a child aged beyond their years. Rats and vermin scurried everywhere, and all around there was a fetid stench of putrid urine. Katherine ignored the cries of hunger, money, and pain that echoed all around her. Every few cells she passed, it seemed like a guard was threatening a convict, or beating them. Grubby hands reached out for Katherine's fine clothes, shouting at her to let them go free. She passed one wailing person who was rocking back and forth, clutching their head and moaning, and another who was screaming bloody murder. She gritted her teeth against a child's pitiful yell for their mother, and all but blocked out the vicious treatment the guards were dealing left and right. The man brought her down another hall, and stopped outside a wide jail cell. The inside walls were covered with mold and tally marks, and other such drawings that prisoners had made to pass the time. But most importantly, Katherine saw Crutchie. Her mouth tightened into a thin little line as she caught a glimpse of his bruised face and the large bloody cut just visible beneath his hair on his forehead. She was confused, though, because he was sitting next to a woman with dark, matted hair in the corner, and they were talking in whispers.

"You have a visitor," the man who had led Katherine here told the prisoners. Crutchie glanced up, and broke into a painful smile. "Katherine!" he exclaimed happily, but didn't move from where he was sitting, even though his crutch was right next to him. Jack's fear had come true: Crutchie wasn't able to walk even when Katherine was there to rescue him. The woman next to Crutchie gave Katherine a glance, and narrowed her eyes in a statement of hostility. Katherine stared right back.

"How do you feel, Crutchie?" she asked gently.

"Good," Crutchie said casually, unaware of the staring match between Katherine and Rosa as they tried to figure one another out. "Are ya 'ere tah get me out, Katherine?" Crutchie asked hopefully.

"He can't walk," Rosa interjected rudely, and Crutchie shot her a look. "They beat him so bad that he can't even walk across our cell."

"Then I suppose I'll have to figure something out, won't I?" Katherine asked testily.

"And quick," Rosa stated. "I won't have him dying on me."

"I ain't gonna die!" Crutchie protested from the back of the cell. "Jeez, Rosa…"

"I assure you he'll be safely back in Manhattan before that happens," Katherine interrupted him.

The guard glanced at Katherine, and jabbed his finger at Crutchie. "We got special instructions fer this one. we can't let him free for a week. We also got….special permission to handle him as we please."

Katherine eyed the brass knuckles he was tossing back and forth between his hands, and smiled sweetly at him. "Thank you, sir," she said. "For that bit of priceless information." With that, she rammed her fist into his jaw, and grabbed the keys. Katherine quickly unlocked the cell door, saying, "Desperate times call for desperate measures. Come on, Crutchie."

A beat went by while Crutchie stared at the unconscious guard, and then back up to Katherine. "Can Rosa come?" he asked.

"Crutchie, I can only take one of you," Katherine said a bit impatiently. "And it has to be you."

"Why can't you bring the both of us?" Rosa asked, moving closer to Katherine, who quickly stepped away.

"I brought my bicycle," Katherine explained matter-of-factly. "And Crutchie's small."

"Small?" Crutchie echoed while Katherine walked over and helped him to his feet. "Katherine, Rosa's gotta come, 'cause-"

"I can only take you, Crutchie!" Katherine told him.

"She's my aunt," Crutchie finished, and Katherine looked over at Rosa. "Seriously? You expect me to fall for that one? What are the chances that you two end up in a prison cell together, and-"

She stopped talking as the guard groaned, and they all looked at him.

"Let's go, and discuss this later," Rosa said quickly, and ran out of the cell. Crutchie slung his arm around Katherine's shoulders, and they walked out of the cell more slowly than Katherine would have liked.

"Is she really your aunt?" Katherine asked him.

"Yeah," Crutchie answered. "She's gotta picture of my mom an' me an' my brothah, what more evidence d'you want?"

"None, I guess," Katherine said slowly. "But….you're sure."

"I'se sure," Crutchie stated, and the pair stopped as Rosa walked back up to them. "We've got to hurry!" she hissed. "It won't be long before they notice we're gone."

"HEY!" Crutchie glanced back as they heard a man's shout. Three guards, including the one Katherine had knocked out, were running towards them armed with the clubs and brass knuckles.

"Run!" Rosa screamed, and pushed Katherine and Crutchie in front of her. They hurried down the hall while Katherine desperately hoped she remembered how to get out of this horrid place, and avoided all the guards as best they could. Katherine rushed through the doors, thankful to be out in the bright sunlight again. She sighed in relief, and then wasted no time in getting Crutchie on the bicycle. Crutchie's eyes were tightly shut, and his head was bowed as he tried to avoid the bright sun. He hadn't been outside in over a day, and coming back out of the dark quarters was hard. It was nothing compared to what Rosa was feeling, though.

The minute they got out of the building, she stopped and stumbled to the ground, dazed. The guards ran up, confident that they could catch this easy prey, but were all pushed away by Katherine, who ran up to Rosa's side. Katherine pulled her towards the bicycle, and they quickly scrambled to get it moving away from the reform facility. Katherine hopped on to sit on the edge of the seat, and started pedaling as fast as she could. Crutchie held onto her like a baby koala with his crutch in one hand as they wheeled away from the place of horrors, Rosa right by their side.

"This isn't going to work!" Rosa yelled at them a while later, taking a glance back to see coppers chasing them. "You'll have to leave me!"

"You wanted to get out of there!" Katherine yelled back.

"Not like this! I'm only slowing you down!"

Katherine didn't answer, instead waiting until they were close enough to the docks to hop off the bicycle and answer Rosa. "Get on the ferry, quick!" she called to her. "We'll be right behind you!"

"You can't take the bicycle!" Rosa said. "They'll be looking for it as soon as we get back to Manhattan!"

Katherine sighed, and shook her head. "Rosa-"

"I have a plan," Rosa insisted, and grabbed the handlebars. Her eyes were still half-closed because of the sunlight. "Go with Crutchie."

"We can't leave ya behind!" Crutchie protested, and Rosa shrugged with a small smile. "Sometimes you have to leave people behind, kid. It's the way it works."

"I jus' met ya yesterday-there's so many things I ain't asked ya!" Crutchie said as Rosa hopped on the bicycle. Katherine pulled Crutchie back through the crowd that was moving onto the ferry. "What do I do?!"

"Make up the answers!" Rosa yelled back to him, placing a foot on the pedal. "That's what I did before I met you!"

She expertly wheeled the bicycle around to face the coppers, and raised her head as they walked towards her. "You can't get them now," Rosa told them. "They're already on the ferry. So, whattaya say, fellas, ready for a little chase?"

She pushed off the ground and rode straight through the group of policemen to lead them away from the ferry. Rosa and the wheeler soon disappeared from Crutchie's sight as Katherine pulled him onto the boat. For all he knew, she had been caught and was now being carted off to the reform center again. Something inside him hoped, or maybe knew, that she had gotten away; after all, that wheeler was pretty damn fast.


	14. Chapter 14

"He's going to be alright, Jack. I know it."

"Ya said he can barely walk. What if-"

"Jack, trust me. He'll be fine. He survived the Refuge, didn't he?"

"Yeah, but-"

"Jack. Crutchie's tougher than a lot of us realize. He'll be fine."

Jack leaned back in his chair, sighing. The floorboards creaked as he glanced over to Crutchie, who was sleeping on the couch. Snoring. Jack chuckled, and turned back to Katherine. He set his chair back on the ground, reaching across the table to take his wife's hands.

"I'm glad you're alright," he said softly. Katherine gave him a sheepish smile. "Me too." The last two nights had been fraught with worry for Jack as he awaited the arrival of Katherine and Crutchie, safe and sound back at the apartment. Katherine had noticed the dark circles under his eyes right away, and tried to send him up to bed. Jack had refused, instead getting them both hot soup and blankets. Crutchie had finished the meal in minutes, and had quickly lied down to sleep. Jack and Katherine had stayed up talking.

"So where's the wheeler?" was Jack's present question.

Katherine glanced to the table. "We had to leave it behind. Crutchie's aunt took it so we wouldn't be caught as soon as we entered Manhattan."

"Woah, wait," Jack frowned. "Crutchie's got an aunt?"

"They met in the reform center," Katherine explained, sliding a faded photograph over to him. Jack glanced down, peering at the people in the picture. A tall woman with light hair stared back at him, sitting in a high-backed chair with her hands neatly folded in front of her. A stern man with one hand on the chair stood behind her, gazing at the camera fondly. A little boy of about ten years old stood next to him, hands clasped behind his back. He was the spitting image of his father, with dark hair and eyes. Sitting next to him on the floor was Crutchie, Jack realized. He must have been only about five or six when the picture was taken, and was trying very hard not to smile. He must have been laughing at something behind the camera. He held a small wooden crutch in his arms, wearing a small suit that was just a bit crumpled. His right leg was turned inwards, just as Jack knew it was today, and looked exactly like the woman who must have been his mother. Jack glanced to the couch and held up the picture, comparing the little boy in the photograph and his friend. Yeah, it was him.

Jack looked back to Katherine as Crutchie let out a snore. "So who's his aunt?"

"Rosa," Katherine said. "I don't know her last name. But she helped us escape."

"Was it as bad as the Refuge?" Jack asked.

Katherine hesitated. "Worse," she stated, and looked over as someone knocked on the door.

"We're not expecting anyone," she said, and started to rise from her chair. Jack got up first and walked over. "God, I hope it's not your fathah," he stated, and pulled open the door.

Leaning on the front stoop was the bicycle, shining as bright as it had been when Katherine had first received it. A red ribbon was tied around the handlebars, with a small paper tag attached. Jack bent down, reading the address written on it. A newspaper was also on the front stoop, with an article circled on the front page. He stood up the bicycle, leaning it against the wall, and smiled.

"Jack? Who's there?" came Katherine's voice from within.

"Your birthday present," he responded, and Katherine joined him. She gasped at the sight of the bicycle, and wrapped her arm around Jack. "How did it get here?"

"Beats me," Jack shrugged, and Katherine bent down to retrieve the newspaper, quickly scanning the article. She smiled and stood back up, entering the apartment again after giving Jack a quick kiss.

"So whaddawe gonna do about the wheeler?" Jack asked. "An', uh, breakin' Crutchie out from jail. Won't your father notice?"

Katherine smiled mysteriously, setting the newspaper on the table. "I believe my father has more to worry about than an escaped cripple."

Jack gave her a questioning glance, and looked over to the circled article in the newspaper. He laughed outloud, and drew Katherine into an embrace.

"Those boys," he whispered. "When will they learn?"

Katherine gazed lovingly into his eyes. "I believe they knew just what to do," she stated, and kissed him long and hard.

"Yous kissin' again?" grumbled a voice from the couch. "I liked it better when I was asleep!"

Crutchie had woken up.


End file.
